


Suroeste Estadounidense

by AmyTheEleventh



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Endearments, Kinda, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Slice of Life, idk man i just needed something fun and stupid to get my mind off shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 09:58:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15483222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyTheEleventh/pseuds/AmyTheEleventh
Summary: The American Southwest tends to blend together after a while, Bucky notices.





	Suroeste Estadounidense

The American Southwest tends to blend together after a while, Bucky notices.

They’ve been driving since about midnight, him and Steve. They stayed the night at a roadside motel somewhere back in Texas, and logically he knows that they’ve only been on the road about eight hours, but time feels… distorted, somehow. They’ve been on the road much too long, but not nearly long enough to almost be across New Mexico already.

“What’s the deal with this place?” Bucky asks, interrupting the silence. Steve glances at him out of the corner of his eye before reaching over to take Bucky’s hand in his.

“I told you,” he says. “It’s quiet, out in the middle of nowhere. I doubt they’ll even know who we are. It’ll give us some time to….” The ending of that sentence hangs unfinished between them, not that Bucky cares.

“You’ve said all that already. I wanna actually know where you’re stickin’ us, Rogers.” Steve grins and prattles off the name of a town Bucky had never heard of until Steve discovered it. “Got us a cute place on the edge of town. Two story, white picket fence, all that jazz. It’s in the historic district, next to a bunch of coffee shops or something. Couldn’t find much about the area outside of the house and general neighborhood.”

“Gonna have to play nice with a bunch of backwoods hicks?”

“Bucky-”

“Sorry, _desert_ hicks.” Steve just snorts; he squeezes Bucky’s hand before letting go to grip the wheel again.

“You’re impossible.”

“I try.” Bucky flashes him a winning smile, or at least something akin to one. It feels like a ghost on his lips still, something that used to be there but got wiped out with the rest of him during his time with HYDRA. T’Challa’s team had done a decent enough job restoring James Barnes’ brain to full working order, but Bucky still felt a little out of place from time to time.

At least Steve seemed happy with him.

“The house is ready for us.” Steve speaks as if Bucky hadn’t interrupted him. “Tony sent some decorators out to fix the place. Don’t-” he adds quickly, sensing another snark. “It’s his way of saying sorry. And Pepper already promised me that she kept it all under control.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything to that.

-

_He’s warm, much too warm and- heavy, something’s on his chest, pressing in, and-_

 “Sugar, come on.” Steve’s voice rattles him out of unconsciousness. When Bucky opens his eyes he sees Steve’s got the passenger side door open, leaning over him just slightly.

“Wassit?” Bucky asks groggily, moving to unlock his seatbelt.  
  
“We’re here,” Steve says patiently, eyes never leaving Bucky’s face. “You’ve been asleep since San Simon.”

“Damn,” Bucky mumbles. He brushes his lips against Steve’s cheek before nudging him away so he can climb out of the car. He’s still a little out of it, but he takes a minute to survey his surroundings.

The sun is high in the sky, and it’s _hot._ And dry, Bucky feels like he’s shrivelling up just standing there. But Steve wasn’t wrong: the house is nice: behind the white picket fence - _Steve wasn’t kidding, oh my god_ \- a red brick path cut through the rock bed front yard hosting a collection of desert plant life Bucky’s not totally familiar with. The house itself is bleached stonework with brown accents. The top floor is mostly windows from the front, and Bucky’s still a little too disoriented to figure out what direction the sun rises from here.

“Whaddya think?”

“S’cute,” Bucky says softly, but there’s part of him that wants to wax poetic how fucking _perfect_ it is that him and Steve have a downright _gorgeous_ house out in the middle of nowhere - the farthest fucking place they could be from the fighting and hiding and cold he’s been so used to - and they can just _exist_ and be together in all the ways that they could never be back before the war.

Steve must see all that behind his eyes, because he wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and pulls him in, pressing their lips together sweetly before peppering kisses all over Bucky’s face with a dopey grin.

“Anything for my best guy.” 

-

They don’t have much by way of furniture - meaning, nothing - so unpacking the car is easy enough. Everything they cared to bring with them fit in the back of Steve’s Ford - clothes, Bucky’s journals, personal trinkets, odds and ends that they couldn’t live without even though Pepper probably would have made sure a newer, prettier version of whatever it was made it into the house. Bucky’s a bit of a hoarder nowadays, having spent so many years without anything to call his own. Steve only encourages the behavior.

Instead of helping Steve sort and organize their bags, Bucky drops everything in the front room, opting instead to do a little recon before he gets too settled. The living room is whites and beiges, carpeted spiral staircase in the corner near the front door, more bleached stone; it could be comfy, Bucky guesses, but at the moment it feels a little too sterile. The front living area is a mostly open floor plan, so the living room flows into the kitchen: stainless steel appliances, more stone, but the island and counters are some kind of brown granite that glints gold flecks under the light. Bucky turns the opposite way and pads towards the hallway, past the big comfy couch and ridiculously oversized TV, to peak into the rooms hidden there. A bedroom, a bathroom, an office, more of the same decor ideals.

It’s nice, Bucky decides. Modern without being too stuffy, and he’s sure him and Steve will turn it into a home, given time.

Steve’s lounging on the couch when Bucky comes out, head nestled against the absurdly fluffy cushion. Bucky doesn’t hesitate to fold himself into the space beside Steve, curling against his side and resting his head on Steve’s shoulder. Steve welcomes him with an arm around his waist and a peck on the forehead.

“S’not the walk up in Red Hook,” Steve says teasingly, “But it’ll do.” Bucky snorts and snuggles in closer.

-

Their first day or two is quiet; unpacking and settling in and rearranging furniture. Pepper had the fridge and pantry fully stocked a day or so before their arrival, and Bucky’s grateful because Steve makes the offhand comment that he didn’t see a grocery store on their way into town.

The room that consist of mostly windows from the front of their house turns out to be the master bedroom, _their_ room, and Bucky laughs when Steve pushes the bed against the far wall.

“It’s the desert,” he says, “Gotta stay out of the sun as much as we can.” Bucky smirks and tackles him to the mattress, because _sure_.

They spend their first evenings curled up on the couch together, opting for local radio like old times instead of the giant television that Bucky is sure has more channels than he can count. The program itself is a bit weird, but the host’s voice is dulcet and relaxing. They fall asleep under their pile of blankets with the AC blasting.

Day three brings visitors. Bucky just assumes that news travels fast in small towns like this, so he puts on a smile and lets Steve do most of the talking as an increasingly odd cast of characters arrive at their door to welcome them to town: a goofy, unassuming man that presents them with dry scones, a kind farmer who offers apologies that he couldn’t bring any peaches (“They’re just not growing this year!”), an older woman who showed up alone but Bucky could have _sworn_ he heard whispering from behind her; each person odd but equally kind, and the more people that show up the more Bucky starts to realize that new faces are a novelty in places like this, and him and Steve are probably gonna get gawked at whenever they leave their home for at least six months.

Bucky revises this thought when a guy in fuzzy yellow pants and a black leather tank top bounds up to the door, a tanned and infinitely more sedate looking gentleman in tow.

“Everyone here’s a fucking freak, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs after they’ve shown their last guests out. Mr. Fuzzy Pants - the fucking radio host, who knew - who’s name Bucky can’t remember had jumped up unexpectedly and exclaimed that he was going to be late for work, and Mr. Tan and Handsome had smiled apologetically and insisted Bucky and Steve come over for dinner sometime.

Steve only gives a light chuckle in response. “We fit in then.” Bucky scowls, which causes Steve to let out a real laugh and pull Bucky in by the waist. “They’re _nice_ ,” Steve insists, and Bucky’s not sure if he’s referring to the shady restaurateur or the gum-smacking, apathetic record shop  owner. “For once the two of us don’t stick out like sore thumbs. Give it a chance, Buck.”

And Bucky melts then, because he realizes that Steve’s got that dark look in his eyes that means he’s worried he’s made Bucky unhappy in some way. “Ain’t nothing,” he sighs, pressing a kiss to Steve’s jaw. “S’long as I got you.”

-

The American Southwest tends to blend together after a while, but Bucky realizes that if you pay real close attention, you’ll see the true beauty it has to offer: desert flowers that bloom as the day draws to a close, miles of uninterrupted sand that reflect the sun like billions of scalding diamonds, the warm but not uncomfortable temperature of bleach stone when your boyfriend presses you against the side of the house after a long run, soaked to the bone in sweat but desperate and needy and shit, Bucky can’t say no to that, now can he?

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone says _anything_ , no I have not been working on _Palisades, Palisades_ like I said I was going to. I've been writing bullshit like this instead. Soz. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed this silly piece of whatever. Follow me on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/buckybucananbarnes/) and [tumblr](http://buckybucananbarnes.tumblr.com/) for more of the same silly bullshit.


End file.
